


Adventures in Sontaransitting

by Nehszriah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dan Starkey-sized antics, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Mild Smut, Twelve and Clara in Late Victorian costume, not a lot of plot just some scenes mainly, there is an oddly-named cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29814648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: Vastra and Jenny take a holiday, while the Doctor and Clara house-sit... or more importantly: babysit Strax.
Relationships: Jenny Flint/Madame Vastra, Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Adventures in Sontaransitting

**Author's Note:**

> You ever just come up with an idea so absurd, you know both that it is going to totally work and you have to write it? That is this fic right here.
> 
> 7973 words; contains Classic references, Strax being himself (i.e.: difficult), stuffy late-Victorian pudding brains, hijinks, cockblocking of varying levels, an oddly-named cat, extra extraterrestrials, and varying antics; takes place mid-s9 for maximum shiggles, though where it takes place amongst the mixing of our favorite two Sherlockian teams is up for debate (memory worms can also be at play, no judgement here); basically a series of scenes and no real plot to speak of

“…he is allowed cake, only after he eats all his supper; oh, and he is no longer allowed to play with grenades, so we’ve hidden them,” Jenny recited, ticking off her list on her fingers. She was standing on the station platform, with Clara and the Doctor taking mental notes on her requests. People were everywhere, jostling about and attempting to ignore the trio. “I think that’s everything…”

“Jenny, dear, we are going to be late catching our train,” Vastra insisted as she popped out of the crowd. “Please hurry—you know I don’t like such large gatherings.”

“I’m coming; where is Strax?”

“I am here, Miss Jenny,” the Sontaran said, appearing at her side. He saluted importantly and gave her a nod. “The luggage has been loaded properly and the workers briefed on their importance. They know the penalty for mishandling is a dishonorable death.”

The warning whistle blew and both Vastra and Jenny winced.

“Go, go!” Clara insisted. “We’ve got this! Go enjoy Brighton!”

“Thanks!” Jenny hugged the Doctor, then Clara, and took Vastra’s arm. The Silurian nodded at their friends, markedly more reserved despite the smug grin behind her veil betraying her.

“We will see you in three weeks,” she said. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“You as well,” the Doctor said. He tipped his hat and nodded—they had everything under control.

With that, Madam Vastra and Jenny boarded the train in time for it to pull away from the platform. The crowd of well-wishers began to disperse, the Doctor, Clara, and Strax amongst them.

“We are going to have an excellent time with Madam Vastra and Miss Jenny away,” Strax decided as they made their way towards the exit. “It shall not be like the times I go to Glasgow or Liverpool, but it shall be good all the same.”

“That’s because this is Vastra and Jenny’s holiday, not yours,” the Doctor said. “If they can handle themselves when you’re on holiday, then the same can be said for you.” They reached the main atrium and he nodded at Strax. “Go ahead and bring around the carriage.”

“Certainly, Doctor.” Strax nodded best he could and wandered off, causing Clara to scrunch her nose in concern.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” she wondered. “I mean… we are supposed to be _watching over him_.”

“Vastra said we were to give him an outlet to channel his destructive and simple nature,” he reminded her, quoting the Silurian. “As long as he is busy, which is the entire point of our staying there, then he is relatively safe for the remainder of Paternoster’s residents and Vastra and Jenny won’t have to do any apologizing upon their return.”

“This is true…” They stepped outside and watched for Strax, hoping that their ride wasn’t going to be long. “It’s not exactly like we have no experience with him.”

Nearly as though on cue, Strax pulled the carriage around… though with only one horse pulling it instead of the two they arrived with. The carriage pulled up and stopped in front of the Doctor and Clara, the pair staring at the lone horse.

“Is something the matter?” Strax asked.

“Where’s the other horse?” Clara asked. She might as well.

“It was a coward,” Strax replied simply.

Of course; less than twenty minutes in and they already owed Vastra and Jenny a new horse. They were off to a great start.

* * *

Clara woke warm and comfortable, noticing that she had shifted overnight. Instead of snugged up against the Doctor’s back, she was laying on hers, with him cuddled into her side and his head against her shoulder. She could feel his legs were bent as they rested on either side of hers, and his arms were wrapped around her waist. It was a good feeling, one that she didn’t mind allowing herself to indulge in…

…or she would have, if the reason she was in the guest bedroom in a Late Victorian house hadn’t slammed the door open, making her and the Doctor both jump.

“Morning and salutations, Doctor! Miss Clara!” Strax announced as he pulled a tea trolley into the room. Now thoroughly awake, the two glared at him as he intruded further into their space. “I see you have more sense than Madam Vastra and Miss Jenny—the two of them often do not bother with nightshirts, even on the coldest of evenings…”

“Strax, what are you doing?” Clara asked blearily. She felt the Doctor retreat underneath the blankets, his face firmly in her lap.

“Bringing breakfast, as is proper.”

She took a look at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s five in the morning.”

“Yes, and the perfect time for the temporary mistresses of the house to rise,” he replied. Strax took a tray from the bottom of the trolley and placed it atop the bedding, transferring plates and cups and whatnot. “We have to be up with the dawn to get in all the things that require our attention.”

“No we don’t,” the Doctor insisted from his hiding spot. The Sontaran took note of his position, furrowing his brow best he could in thought.

“Are you well, Doctor?” he wondered. “You hide as though you are ill and do not wish for anyone to fuss. As you know, I am fully-trained in medi—”

The Doctor lifted the blanket long enough to growl, “Bugger off,” covering himself again. Strax blinked and looked quizzically at Clara.

“Has he told you why he is hiding?”

“Something tells me that it has to do with how abruptly we were woken up,” she explained. “Thank you for breakfast; the Doctor and I shall take it alone.”

“As you wish.” Strax gave a shallow nod and left the room, his guests realizing their headache that was to be the remainder of their three-week stay. Clara reached under the blanket and scratched the Doctor’s scalp, attempting to console him.

“We’re doing this as a favor, remember?” she said sweetly. “Jenny and Vastra need their time away from him as well, and who better to keep him busy?”

“There are a few others I could introduce him to… Leela would be able to go toe-to-toe with the potato-brain…”

“…but Jago and Litefoot would be decidedly up in arms about Vastra’s adventures in the meantime for their own good, as you explained earlier,” she reminded him. She could feel his nose scrunch up in displeasure against her thigh as his own words came back to bite him. Of course—they’d get on with Strax well enough, yet his old acquaintances were long-proven to be decidedly too male for Vastra’s tastes—let alone Jenny’s—and his former companion… well… they didn’t need the Sontaran to fall in love with the ferocity of the Sevateem.

The Doctor jerked his head so that the blanket bunched on his neck and he glanced at the tea tray and abandoned trolley—at least he knew they weren’t going to starve. He reached over and snatched a strip of bacon, popping half of it in his mouth as he remained attached to Clara’s lap.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“A different kind of hungry,” he admitted. She felt his non-bacon hand move and his fingers slip underneath the hem of her nightgown, travelling up and down the back of her leg in order to make her shiver. “Do you want me to move the tray? I know what bedrooms are useful for now.”

“Not while we don’t know where Strax is,” she reminded him. The Time Lord shoved the rest of the bacon into his mouth and hid again—this was far from fair.

* * *

One of the more interesting parts about watching over Strax was the fact that Clara got to somewhat experience what it was like to employ a servant.

…because yes, of course, she was a sensible early 21st century Briton with a teacher’s salary and a tiny flat—she had neither the money nor the inclination to have anything of the sort in her normal life. What was a cluttered flat and pre-prepping dinners on Sunday afternoon in the grand scheme of things, as long as she planned it into her normal life? She wasn’t supporting a spouse to keep house and cook meals (and even if she _was_ supporting someone, it wouldn’t be for that purpose, let alone solely), so why worry? The flat was only an issue during Christmas if her father’s wife made an appearance, and cooking was genuinely enjoyable, making it so she rarely ever stumbled across the thought in earnest.

Now, she was met with the concept head-on.

“Tea,” Strax announced as he pushed a trolley into the drawing room. She looked up from the lesson plan she was putting together for the Year Sevens and their long-term substitute—a darling, but truly over her head—and raised an eyebrow.

“I could have gotten that,” she said. The Sontaran kept wheeling the trolley over, seemingly ignoring her. “I got my own tea last time I was staying here.”

“This is correct, although Miss Jenny and Madam Vastra instructed me to keep behaving as though you and the Doctor are no different than the two of them,” Strax replied. He began to pour tea into the dainty chinaware and ignored his guest’s frown.

“I thought you were treating me no different from them last time.”

“You were a transient, unsure if you would be resigned to living outside of your home space-time, not a guest,” he reasoned. He paused, glanced around the room, and counted down on his fingers—three, two, one… it was then that the Doctor burst into the room. “I guessed correctly; tea for two.”

“Clara! How long is it until they invent the wireless?!”

“Roughly ten years; twenty before it’s more commonplace.” She saw the vigor with which he dumped a handful of sugar cubes in his tea and devoured a biscuit while sloshing the beverage around so it spilled into the saucer. “Let me guess: someone is trying to invent it early?”

“Not trying— _has_.” He sipped from the saucer, despite the fact he seemed barely able to contain himself. Pacing around the room, he seemed incapable of being still, for his excitement was beyond measure. “I think it’s some Trions attempting to get a leg-up on the locals and manipulate the native infrastructure. It all seems a bit too convenient otherwise.”

“Trions are cowards, infiltrating other species as they do,” Strax offered. “They have no honor.”

“They might not all have honor, but they do know how to take matters into their own hands,” the Doctor replied, barely able to contain his grin. “It’s been a while since I’ve properly run into Trions—it’ll be fun.”

“I’m not entirely sure if that’s the word I would use,” Clara deadpanned. She sipped at her own tea; it tasted… odd. “What did you do to the tea, Strax?”

“Added additional vitamins and minerals essential for life functions, as this is a poor era for natural nutrient intake,” he stated. Of course he would.

“You do realize I’m vaccinated for a decent number of the diseases that our neighbors live in fear of, right? I already had my entire life of getting better-than-adequate nutrition. Mum raised me on gummy-vitamins for goodness sake.”

“Vigilance in the war against disease and medicinal blight is never done,” Strax affirmed. “Now sit, Doctor, and take your tea as you discuss your findings with Miss Clara. You might even feel better afterwards.”

“…but…!”

“No buts; sit,” Clara ordered, pointing at the armchair. The Doctor did so grouchily, sipping at the rest of his tea. “No Trions until after we’re done here, got it? I’m curious too, but unless it threatens Paternoster, we promised we’d stay out of trouble.”

“What if they…?!”

“ ** _Got it?_** ”

“Yes, boss.” He turned his attention to Strax, who seemed confused by the exchange. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

The Sontaran shrugged; companionship was a confusing thing.

* * *

Doing the shopping didn’t seem as though it was going to be too horrid. The Doctor stayed back at the house, deciding that he required some extra-alone time away from Strax. This left Clara as the lone chaperone, doing a chore that usually fell unto Jenny.

“The vegetables here are not fresh,” Strax stated as he stared down a bushel of potatoes. They were in an open-air market, with the stall being just one of several that they had stopped at. Clara could see that he seemed to share a sort of kinship to them, thought it was not like he would be able to place two and two together—that would involve having at least four fingers on one hand.

“How can you tell that the veg here is not fresh?”

“It is very clear to me,” Strax poorly reasoned. A cat walked past and rubbed itself against the Sontaran’s legs. “This, however, is very fresh.”

“Behave—it’s only a cat,” Clara scolded. She picked up the feline and looked it in the eyes. “Oh, I do like you, kitty. Do you have a home?” The cat meowed, making her giggle. “I think I’ll take you home with me.”

“We are to guard the house against intruders, not allow them into our midst,” Strax said. He frowned when he noticed that Clara was no longer paying him any attention as she skritched the cat behind its ear, making it purr in delight. “Miss Clara: might I remind you of the mission we are on?”

“You’re such a spoil-sport,” she replied. “Let’s get this good girl home, then we can argue about whether to keep her or not.”

“How can you tell what gender this boy is?” he asked. Clara gave Strax an exasperated look, though noticed out the corner of her eye that the man running the stall was staring at them.

“You try coming back from Manipur with all your senses,” she hissed, affecting a broader accent for emphasis. “Some definite war crimes happened there.” At that the cart owner scurried over to the other side of his wares, leaving them alone. Clara rolled her eyes and allowed her voice to go to normal. “I think that’s enough shopping for the day.”

“We are not bringing the boy home,” Strax insisted. Clara left payment for their produce with the cart owner’s wife and began to walk away, ignoring her companion. “It would be a breach of protocol to allow an interloper access!”

“We can let Jenny and Vastra be the judge of that,” she insisted. She pointedly tuned out Strax’s complaining as they walked back to Paternoster Row, as well as the yawp he emitted when she allowed the cat to roam free within the house, chasing after it.

“What upset the potato now?” the Doctor wondered, emerging from the corridor as Clara hung up her coat and hat on their pegs in the foyer. “He’s shouting less intelligibly than normal.”

“I brought home a cat,” she shrugged. “You’re back from sneaking out to investigate the Trions early.” He winced—caught.

“It was just a human-led experiment gone nearly right; nothing to get worried about the time stream over.” He heard a crash and winced again. “That cat seems as troublesome as the High Council in Strax’s eyes.”

“Maybe it means he has a distraction so we can possibly get in some time alone,” she suggested. He gave her a hopeful grin as she placed her hands on his chest—possibly…?

…except, the cat scurried between them, making the couple jump apart. Not a moment later and Strax was barreling through as well, almost pushing them out of the way.

There went that idea.

* * *

It was a lazy day as the sun poured into the parlor, warming the room gently. Rassilion was laid out on the rug, her kitty sensibilities deciding it was time for a nap, whilst the human and Time Lord were reclined on the couch. Clara was snug with a book and firmly within the Doctor’s grasp, with him taking a cue from the cat with a quick kip himself. Everything was so quiet and tranquil that it almost seemed as though the moment was almost _daring_ something to happen…

…and sure enough, it did.

A loud BOOM jolted both the Doctor and Rassilion from their naps, with Clara dropping her book in surprise. The entire house rattled, threatening the integrity of the structure. Bolting to their feet, the Doctor and Clara both ran from the parlor to see what was going on—were they being targeted by a rogue extraterrestrial who was bent on revenge?

No, it seemed, as the cellar door opened soon as they passed it, with a plume of smoke and a coughing Sontaran emerging from it.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?!” Clara snapped. “Are you _trying_ to make sure Vastra and Jenny don’t have a house to come home to?!”

“I have misplaced my grenades, so I am constructing new ones,” Strax said simply.

“You aren’t allowed grenades when Jenny and Vastra aren’t around!” she fired back. She turned her attention to the still-smoky entrance to the cellar, her eyes narrowing in determination. “Let me see _exactly_ what you have down there.”

“Miss Clara!” Strax protested sternly. “You should refrain from poking around in my workshop!”

The Doctor made a noise and placed a hand on the Sontaran’s shoulder—hold up. Cautiously, the extraterrestrials watched—eventually joined by the cat—and waited for some sign from Clara, good or bad. A couple minutes passed and a smaller explosion could be felt beneath the floorboards, with Rassilion running away and the sound of angry bootsteps storming up the stairs. Clara popped out of the cellar looking rather sooty and singed, but most of all: rather cross.

“If either of you need me, I will be in the TARDIS,” she stated, looking ready to murder. The Doctor and Strax both gave her a wide berth as she walked down the corridor and up the stairs, towards the room where the TARDIS was sitting.

“Do us a favor,” the Doctor said, “don’t mess with explosives while Clara’s here. She seems… _testy_.”

“Might it be that her body is preparing to shed uterine lining in preparation for her next fertile cycle?”

“No… just… I think that’s something you need to wait for Jenny’s assistance on when she gets back from holiday,” he replied. The Doctor decided to leave Strax be as he went back to the parlor and attempted to continue his nap…

…and probably would have if not five minutes later he heard another small explosion coming from the cellar. The semi-sentient potato was not going to learn.

* * *

“You and your husband seem familiar—did you buy the house from Madam Vastra?”

Clara glanced up from her book to see the neighbor-woman peeking over the side garden gate at her, very clearly being too nosy for her own good (despite the fact that it was incredible it had taken this long for her to approach them). She placed her finger between the pages and held her spot as she closed it; just because she was reading an old favorite, _The Return of the King_ , did not mean she wished to lose her place. Judging by which garden wall it was… she knew she was in for a boring conversation.

“You could say we’re short-term subletting, in a way,” she replied, using her crispest accent possible. Clara didn’t even bother with calling the Doctor over from the other side of the garden, knowing that he was better off taking apart the old boiler (that he found in the basement, no less) in peace. The last thing she needed was the woman’s sensibilities—or lack thereof—to irritate him into an evening of crankiness. “Jenny is my sister and we are watching over the home while she accompanies her mistress on important business. We visited a while back, which is likely how you recognized us.”

“Jenny is _your sister_ …?” The neighbor seemed nearly appalled. “Why does she work as a _maid_?”

“She enjoys it, I suppose,” Clara said blithely. Rassilion padded over from the hedge and hopped into her lap, purring contently as she received idle skritches. “I am not one to judge—I was a governess before I began teaching.”

“…a governess…?”

“Aye, and a good one at that,” the Doctor said, thickening his own accent slightly. He walked over towards the table Clara was still seated at, wiping the dirt and grease off his hands with a rag. The more he could offend the neighbor, so easily repulsed by differentness from her own English existence, the better off not only would they be, but the less prying would happen in the normal occupants’ lives. “She’s great with bairns… better than I can hope t’ be.”

“…and that shall be one of the many notes I plan to prove you wrong on one day,” Clara said, smugly eyeing the Doctor. He was filthy, yes, and it was driving her _up a wall_. She looked over at the neighbor and had to stop herself from laughing at the sheer disgust at her uncouth, brazen, unabashedly open horniness. “Would you like to stay for tea? Strax is supposed to be making a lovely merengue for the afternoon…”

“I was just wondering, was all,” the neighbor said. “Good day, Mrs.…?”

“Clara Oswald, and I’m the Doctor,” the Time Lord said.

“Doctor Oswald, what, pray tell, is a doctor doing with a governess?”

“Not being bored.” The neighbor left in a huff, causing the time travelers to snicker to themselves. “Something tells me she’d be appalled to learn what _really_ goes on in this house in private.”

“It is time for tea!” Strax announced as he made his way into the garden, tea tray in-hand. He set it down on the table and blinked curiously as he looked at Clara, then the Doctor, and back. “I am detecting increases in hormone levels, heart rates, resting breathing patterns, and your pupils might be dilated slightly. Do you both need to take your tea indoors?”

“No, but I think you need to let us know when you are preparing dinner, so we can chat privately,” the Doctor said, sitting down at the table. He felt the toe of Clara’s boot travel up his calf as he pretended to not notice, instead placing eight sugar cubes in his tea without flinching. Strax poured Clara’s tea and passed it to her.

“If you require time to mate, I can block some out for you later on,” he stated. Clara and the Doctor both choked on their drinks, neither entirely sure they just heard what they did. Rassilion scurried away at that, sensing that there was something she did not want to be around for, and ran into the house. “Madam Vastra and Miss Jenny set aside time for mating often, though they are of different species and can therefore not produce offspring.”

“Well… he’s not _wrong_ ,” the Doctor muttered into his tea.

“You and Miss Clara are of different species as well—why would you mate if that is the case?”

“Not… necessarily…” Clara said, not really wanting to elaborate. It was bad enough that Strax was incapable of understanding the concepts of multiple genders and anything resembling sexuality in even the most rudiment forms (despite the fact he seemed to forget all about neither Vastra nor Jenny being “man-ones”), but he seemed to think he was filling in the gaps of his knowledge when he very clearly… well… wasn’t.

“Ask Jenny,” the Doctor said. He ignored the glare he got from Clara and took a slice of merengue, stuffing his gob with it. “She can explain it.” The talking potato contemplated the option.

“Yes… she was the one who explained mating to me from the start, so she shall be best with whom to continue the conversation.”

They really needed to figure out how to get him to stop using that word… for everyone’s own good.

* * *

Clara was not feeling well.

 _Specifically_ , it was that her menstrual cycle was hitting her particularly hard, making it so that all she was up for that day was going to be laying in bed—in the TARDIS, mind—and watching movies with bottomless tea and crisps and Rassilion curled up with her. A girls’ day, so to speak… which meant that the Doctor had to take Strax and make scarce for most of the day.

“This place is so annoying I can barely think,” the Doctor scowled. Why were they in the middle of Trafalgar Square? He wasn’t entirely certain. The only thing he was certain about was the fact there were way too many people and too few of them were Clara for his liking.

“It is a fine day for a stroll,” Strax declared. “We are not far from Charing Cross; you can always go home.”

“I’d rather not,” the Doctor grumbled. He knew the penalty for coming back without Strax would be a severe one, and it was not a theory he wished to test. Glancing around, he tried to find something with which to occupy his time and mental capacities. He was nearly about to give up when he saw it: the empty plinth, occupied by something a lot larger than an overweight pigeon. Without a word, he took the sonic shades from his pocket and put them on to observe the being insane enough to stand on Trafalgar Square’s Fourth Plinth.

“Doctor, what are you doing?” Strax asked. “Those are not available in this point in the human time stream, as per Miss Clara’s instruction.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got more important things on our hands,” the Doctor said. He zeroed in on the plinth’s occupant and frowned. “Wirrn.”

“Are you certain of that, Doctor?”

“I’d rather _not_ admit there’s Wirrn in Late Victorian London, but here we are,” he replied. “Where there’s one, there’s bound to be more. You haven’t run into any yet, have you?”

“Not that I am aware of… but then again, handling those… I forget what they are, but the wriggly things tend to leave gaps in my recollection. It is most dangerous.”

“Then let’s see if there are any gaps that need fixing,” the Doctor said. He pocketed his sonic shades and adjusted the lapels of his jacket—he was ready.

Later on, as Clara shuffled out of the TARDIS in search of something both sweet and salty from the kitchen (as the TARDIS only seemed to have barbecue crisps and a chub of fondant), she noticed that both the Doctor and Strax had returned and were laying face-down in the foyer. Holding onto Rassilion, she nudged the Time Lord over with her foot, seeing that he was a particularly nasty shade of green, with nearly-translucent boils all over. Strax rolled onto his back and it was apparent his condition was worse—the boils were opaque and definitely a more sickly color—showing how whatever it was they ran into affected the two species differently.

“Do I want to know?” she asked.

“No…” the Doctor wheezed.

“Should I… erm… leave you to it, then…?”

“That would be best, yeah,” he nodded. She crept away, heading to the kitchen, Rassilion seemingly unbothered by the encounter despite the fact she knew full-well how bad that really was.

As long as it didn’t end up in the history books, she figured, whatever it was happened to be a win.

* * *

All they wanted was just a little bit of time to themselves; the Doctor and Clara held hands as they glanced around, making certain that they were unseen as they ducked into the storage cupboard. It was just too small to be a proper room, yet still big enough to be of use for anything from linens to liaisons.

“Mmph—make this count, Doctor,” Clara ordered, pulling him down into a kiss. She felt his hands on her rear and suddenly she was lifted onto a shelf, bringing her more at-height with him as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Despite sharing a bed at night, their physical contact levels were leaving many things to build… and poorly at that. “It’s worse than if we tried to get anything in at work.”

“Dodging tweens, I don’t recommend; cats and potatoes, yes,” he murmured, his kisses beginning to trail down her jaw and to the crook of her neck.

“Oooh, say that again.”

“What? I don’t recommend trying to do this at your place of work?”

“No, the last bit.”

“Ah.” He moved, lips trailing against her skin, until he was gently pressed against her ear. “ ** _Yes_**.”

A shiver coursed its way through Clara, arching her back and making her dig her nails into the Doctor’s shoulders. He reached to get rid of his belt, and she to more-sufficiently move her skirts out of the way. They were only partway there when they heard a light scratching at the door—Rassilion.

“Go away!” the Doctor hissed. The cat mewled in protest, as she wanted to make sure everything was alright. “We’ll feed you later!”

“Thank you for not letting the cat watch us,” Clara grunted.

“Well when you name it _Rassilion_ …”

He was cut off from saying anything else, however, by the door swinging open, Strax being the perpetrator. The Sontaran stared at the scene before him, unsure of how to address it. He could not see anything because of how the Doctor was standing, but the sight of Clara with her legs around a sagging-trousered Doctor… it was at least enough to give him an idea.

“You are incorrect, boy,” he told the cat. “They are not in danger.”

“Strax!” was all Clara was able to scream. She pulled a bedsheet from the shelf and tossed it at his head, causing him to staged backwards slightly. “Don’t you _dare_ do that ever again!”

“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to disentangle himself from the unfolding linen. The Doctor closed the door and took a broom, using it to further block the door. “Is that mating? I didn’t think it would—”

“ _GO AWAY_.”

He paused, looked at the cat, then did as he was told. Beings who required time for mating were truly beyond his comprehension.

* * *

They had no real choice in the matter—they _had_ to do the adventuring thing.

It was not as though the Doctor, Clara, and Strax had anticipated being knee-deep in the sewer system when they had left the house for a drive that very morning. All they were planning on doing was having a picnic in the countryside and taking their time getting back to Paternoster. Just a normal outing—one that honestly transcended the time period—and it should have been a simple thing to keep them occupied. Instead, they had gotten on the wrong side of a literal sentient pudding on their way through Acton and were now on their sixteenth hour of attempting to outmaneuver it.

“It always seems rather suspicious how many aliens are holed up in London,” Clara groused. She had most of her skirts bunched up in one arm as she held her torch with her other hand. Glancing back at the Doctor, she saw that he was attempting to look innocent. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with _you_ , would it?”

“Extraterrestrials come to London because they can blend in and not a single human notice,” he shrugged.

“If that’s the case, then what about New York? Mumbai? Beijing? Los Angeles? Hong Kong? Bloody _Liverpool_ or _Edinburgh_? Why don’t **_they_** get more of the weird aliens?”

“Weird humans exist too, Clara, and they tend to keep other weird beings at-bay,” he chided. She threw him an unimpressed look—not today.

“I think it would be exciting to have more extraterrestrials residing within London,” Strax decided. He was at the front of their party, oblivious to any stares he was getting. “Might liven things up a bit—haven’t had this much excitement in months!”

“I thought you were investigating things all the time with Vastra and Jenny,” Clara noted.

“Mostly human affairs—such dull, odd creatures,” he frowned. “It’s always the men-ones, it seems. They are not well-behaved and the men-ones at Scotland Yard are not always willing to approach them due to their weak and pathetic ways.”

“…that’s not how I would describe it, but you’re not that far off the mark,” she muttered.

“It is part of how attractive England is to extraterrestrials, London in particular,” he added. “Ever hear of aliens invading Glasgow? You don’t! They know how much resistance there would be—can’t pull the wool over eyes from the Clyde!”

Clara stopped walking, which allowed the Doctor to inspect the walls around them so as to stay out of the row. “How does Vastra not chuck you out onto the curb on the daily?”

“Then there would be no one to tend the horses or garden, and she does not wish to hire a man-one,” Strax replied frankly, as though he’d had this precise conversation already.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of young women able to brush a horse and plant flower beds who would be itching to be hired and not as a joke—maybe even some men itching to live as men for once.” She glanced over at the Doctor and saw that his face was scrunched in thought as he was looking at a crack in some of the bricks. “Please tell me you found something and are not just avoiding.”

“Possibly,” he mused. He counted out bricks over and down, then hit one, with a passageway opening where the bricks were split. “Can’t hide forever—we now have an advantage.”

“…and what do you propose we do with this advantage?” she asked.

“Fight for honor and glory on the battlefield?” Strax asked, attempting to be helpful.

“Take this thing by surprise and get it out of our hair,” the Doctor corrected. He led them further into the passageway, which somehow smelled even _worse_ than the sewer itself. Clara was about to make a comment on it when a loud, disgustingly-wet belch came from further down the way, putting a massive grin on the Time Lord’s face. “It looks like we’re in the right spot.”

“We’re in something, alright,” Clara deadpanned. She let her skirts drop as she saw the floor beneath them was dry, leaving her to access other things, such as her mobile for a flashlight. Just as she locked her screen again, Strax ran past them, somehow brandishing a grenade and phaser pistol.

There went their element of surprise.

* * *

It was a lovely day, in all honesty, which meant that Clara and the Doctor decided to take their lunch outside in the back garden. They both knew that it meant that they were at risk of catching the attention of the neighbors, though that didn’t matter much as they set up the table and had Strax bring the food out. For at least a few minutes, things were quiet…

…until they most definitely were not.

“Doctor Oswald? Mrs. Oswald? Might I have a word?”

The Doctor put down his half-of-a-half a sandwich and turned in his chair, looking to see who was stupid enough to disturb them. It was the neighbor from a while ago, looking very grim and serious as though she had wallowed an entire pear in one go.

“Can’t you see we’re eating?” he asked, slightly exaggerating his accent again. “I’d like t’ still be able to have a mid-afternoon kip if you’ll allow me to finish in time.”

“It is about your sister-in-law’s coworker.”

Clara and the Doctor traded looks instead of cursing loudly. “Did you want some tea?” she asked, watching as the neighbor-woman made her way into the garden. The intruder sat down at the table and scowled.

“No, thank you. I am only here to talk about your sister’s fellow servant. Strass, is it?”

“Strax.”

“Yes, how… peculiar.” She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “I need you, Doctor, to speak with Madam Vastra when she returns from her business.”

“Why me?”

“I do not expect Madam Vastra to listen to the words of her maid’s sister, no matter how intelligent, but you are a learned man with standing. Would you be able to tell her that her manservant is getting into our gardens again and we, as a neighborhood, shan’t stand it for much longer.”

“What, do you think he’s spying on you? He’s got better things to do with his time.”

“He _says_ he is setting up a perimeter against the ‘Rutan menace’. What does he even _mean_ by that?”

“We’ve learned with Strax, it’s best to ignore him most of the time,” Clara offered. She took a bite of her sandwich and shrugged nonchalantly. “I mean, he’s not _particularly dangerous_ … only mildly so.”

“A danger is a danger,” the neighbor insisted. “Please, Doctor Oswald, put your love for the service class aside for half a moment and make it clear to Madam Vastra that we should not have to suffer him for much longer.”

“If he’s such a problem, then why don’t you tell her yourselves?” the Doctor asked.

“We’ve tried and… it seems as though she needs convincing from a closer source,” the neighbor admitted. “Any of the rest of us and he would have been terminated ages ago.”

“So then you want me to finish what you were too cowardly to accomplish.”

“No! I wish for you to get Madam Vastra to listen to reason!” The neighbor was about to continue but was cut off by the sound of something breaking, along with Rassilion hissing loudly. “Don’t you hear him being a nuisance? I thought you were here to watch over the home, not make certain he destroys it.”

“Why don’t you leave the particulars of that to us,” the Doctor said. His patience was worn especially thin; too much longer and he was going to pop a memory worm up her bustle. “Vastra left that to _us_ , remember? Don’t worry about it.”

“I _have_ to worry—the entire street’s reputation is on the line because of him, after all.”

The Doctor was nearly about to tell the woman off—her brain was a particularly _dense_ form of pudding—when Rassilion ran from the house. The cat attempted to find shelter under the neighbor’s chair, but Strax ran out and saw her, diving under in order to catch “the interloper”, as he was referring to her. This knocked the neighbor off the chair and onto the lawn, with the cat using her as a springboard in order to jump into Clara’s lap.

“The fiend was attempting to steal additional food rations!” Strax snapped as he scrambled to his feet. “We _have_ to get rid of that thing before Madam Vastra and Miss Jenny arrive back!”

“Strax…?” Clara said, pointing at the neighbor. “What do you say?”

“Oh!” He bowed slightly, though did not help her up. “There are many things that happen on the battlefield. Unfortunately that was one.”

“You need to be in a mental asylum!” the neighbor shrieked. “All of you! I can’t _wait_ until Vastra moves out of this house! We need some sanity around here again!”

“It’s not like you’ll provide that,” Clara quipped as the woman stormed off. She didn’t care that the garden gate slammed shut, nor that they had just gotten a decidedly non-Victorian tirade out of someone who before had been snide at worst. All she did was pet the cat and stare at Strax.

“…am I in trouble…?” he wondered.

“Not sure if I’ve decided yet,” she replied.

* * *

Finally, the Doctor and Clara knew they were alone.

They had placed Rassilion in her cupboard, Strax was off on an evening patrol of the neighborhood, and the neighbors themselves were at a relative’s house for dinner. All throughout their own meal, the couple had given one another hungry, desperate looks as they waited for their chance, glad that their housemate was oblivious to their desires. Now, after all this time, they had it.

“How do you want to play this?” the Doctor asked as he closed the bedroom door and turned down the lights. He glanced over at Clara, who nearly seemed to glow in an aura of sexual prowess. She considered him, her eyes going up and down his body, before deciding.

“Undress for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sitting down at the edge of the mattress, Clara watched as the Doctor carefully and methodically stripped away his layers. His clothes began to form a pile next to him—all futuristic fabrics for the time period that required no ironing later—until he was down to his pants and undershirt. She crooked her finger and he stepped towards her, his erection apparent.

“Now me.”

He bent down to kiss her and undo the back of her dress at the same time, only to get her forefinger pressed to his lips playfully.

“Stockings first.”

Ready to play her game, the Doctor went down on his knees and began to undo the laces of Clara’s boots, relishing in her touch as she gently played with his hair. One boot, then the other, as he buried his face in her skirts; his hands went torturously slow as he freed her of her stockings, eliciting a low moan as he slid the fabric over her skin. He parted her thighs and felt experimentally—she was wearing her also-very-futuristic knickers that allowed him to slide them off without a problem. Ducking under her skirts, he began to kiss and bite and massage the inside of her legs, heading closer to the goal as slow as was excruciatingly possible. She could feel his breath on her, just barely ghosting over the place she _absolutely_ needed him, and she gripped the bedspread in anticipation as she laid back, turning near into jelly.

“ _Doctor…?! Miss Clara…?!_ ”

A mood-killer if there was one.

“Not now, Strax!” the Doctor shouted, still underneath Clara’s skirt. They heard the doorknob wiggle—locked, for they had learned from their attempted quickie. “We are in the _middle of something_!”

“ _I need to show you this suspicious plant I saw growing in the neighbor’s yard!_ ”

“We told you: it’s milkweed planted by another neighbor as a prank!” Clara snapped. “Now let us be until we leave the room of our own volition or you _will_ regret it!” She heard footsteps in the corridor and exhaled heavily, releasing a bunch of tension she didn’t realize she was allowing to build in her body. Relaxed again, she hooked her legs over the Doctor’s shoulders, allowing her knees to rest on him. “It’s a miracle Jenny and Vastra get any time to themselves at all.”

“I feel like he fears them more,” he replied, nuzzling her leg. “That tongue is scary.”

“Make use of _yours_ or else you can also bugger off,” she insisted, holding him firmly in place. He made a noise in anticipation and she knew he was grinning against her skin. “Maybe he is how they’re guaranteeing that we don’t do this in their house.”

“This is Vastra and Jenny we’re talking about; getting them to disapprove of consensual _anything_ means that someone, somewhere, is not going about things as they should.” He was only centimeters away now, feeling her heels digging into his back in an attempt to force him forward. “Anxious, are we?”

Clara let out a little moan as the Doctor began to kiss her, precisely where she wanted him. She writhed as he held her hips in place and continued, eliciting more vulgar noises from her, pushing her further and further. He stopped just as she was about to hit her peak, causing her to cuss loudly.

“Language,” he teased, popping out from underneath her skirts. He went back to her dress, undoing the laces and hooks and everything that kept the fabric around her and off the floor. Once her body was free from its confines, Clara pushed the Doctor back so he was laying on the bed, with her straddling his waist in only her chemise. He gazed up at her, a besotted fool if there ever had been or shall be one, and fell for her yet again. Divesting himself of his remaining clothes, he lay still as she sank down onto him, getting things going properly. He shifted his hips slightly and could _feel_ her tense around him, ready to take him for everything…

…except, there was a knock at the window.

A very irritating, Sontar-derived knock.

“ _Doctor? Miss Clara? I still need you to look at this suspicious plant!_ ” Strax insisted. He stared at the couple blankly, it taking a moment to process what precisely was going on, before nodding to himself. “ _I’ll come back later_.”

“If there wasn’t leaded glass between us I’d throw something at him,” Clara hissed. She watched as Strax disappeared from sight, leaving just her and the Doctor once again in the evening twilight. “He’s worse than the cat.”

“Just channel it all into something more constructive,” he offered. He gently bucked his hips into her and she grunted—oh yeah, that was right.

She was a bit rough with him that night, that much was for certain, but at least their charge didn’t disturb them for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

The moment when one comes home from a holiday is always bittersweet; seeing London again for the first time in ages was reassuring to Vastra and Jenny, both of whom were a little less eager to go home than they were willing to admit. Their Brighton holiday had been refreshing beyond what they had expected, making it so that they were a bit loathe to leave in the end. Luckily, there was still important business that called them back to Paternoster Row in the form of keeping the peace where and when Scotland Yard was incapable or incompetent, which was part of what dragged them onto the train back to London.

Another was making sure that their Sontaran hadn’t managed to drive his sitters to madness yet.

The train pulled dutifully into the station, where there was a throng of people waiting on the platform for other returning travelers. They moved cautiously amongst them, wondering where their reception committee was… if they were even there at all.

“There you are!”

Both ladies looked and saw Clara appear from the crowd; her face was one of relief as she brought them into a hug, with a beleaguered-looking Doctor not far behind. Curious—though not ignorant—they wondered how bad it had gotten while they were gone.

“It was very bad,” the Doctor said, not needing his psychic abilities to read their minds. “Not a lot of sleep, barely any quiet, few things got done, absolutely no sex whatsoever… you can find a different sitter next time.”

“I really didn’t want to have to drop him off at Jago’s, but I guess I shall have no choice but to consider that for the next time,” Vastra cringed. Clara let go of her and Jenny and they set about getting their luggage. With the Doctor taking most and the ladies all one each, they were able to make their way out towards the pickup area and sought out Strax and the carriage.

“Ah! You have returned!” he grinned. “How was Brighton?”

“Rather quiet—it was almost nice,” Vastra said. She noted how there was only one horse attached to the reins and glared at Strax. “Where is the other horse?”

“It was a coward.”

“You’re an idiot,” Jenny sniped. “I heard you were misbehaving. Is that true?” He stayed silent. “I thought so; no cake for a month.”

Strax groused lowly to himself—what complete and utter nonsense.


End file.
